Wednesday, February 11, 2009

ongoing project not done yet

Gonna go months with a mouthful of gonnas,
‘til I get a good jaw on you.
I won’t even bite a bit of skin
I’ll just save it all for the mosquitoes
to tattoo their red map upon
and just gibber jabberwocky,
sleep softly


I can’t even remember my dreams anymore
And you look at me as though that is some
kind of problem
Well fuck you, okay?

I never was one for real words
So allow me to quit rapping that poetry pipe.
Lets just say your words make me wet


And oh the rusted tops of pick up trucks.
Musta been a hundred and one suns that day,
And you
all stupid in the eye with gold spun tales
of a thousand well worn punches where people love you so hard
they hafta hit you.

I don’t know
I don’t know
I don’t know



Maybe all words are just a song:

If his is dee dum dee dum dee dum.
If hers is diddy dum diddy dum diddy dum.
Mine is dum dum dum.
A dull drum.

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